Closer
by Trench
Summary: Percy and Annabeth broke up after their final summer at the camp, but even though Percy found himself angry and bitter, he could never really move on. Now, when time is running out, Percy must scramble to rebuild the bridges he'd burned as he reunites with the people he used to know better than the back of his own hand. (full summary inside)
1. I

_"It's strange, making the choice to face his past—it almost feels like he's heading for the sun straight on, like he's screaming come on and burn me, I deserve it."_

Years ago, Percy and Annabeth fell apart after their final summer at the camp that had held them together. As their relationship and their circle of friends disintegrated, Percy found himself angry and bitter, but he could never really move on from Annabeth. Now, when it's announced that a solar flare will end the world in twelve days, Percy must scramble to rebuild the bridges he's burned as he reunites with the people he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

**A/N**:This fic can be read as canon-compliant, but there is no mention of demigods or the mythological world. The main connection to the world of the books is Camp Halfblood, which I only describe as a summer camp where Percy, Annabeth, and the others met. So you can think of this fic as either a continuation of the books or as a completely separate alternate universe.

This fic is going to be very, very long, and also it's sort of melodramatic, so bear with me, okay? The Seven are the main characters, and there are a few minor romances although Percy/Annabeth is the central pairing. Also, Percabeth is endgame, but it's sort of a slow burn for the first couple chapters. The solar flare described in this fic is not real science, meaning it's not anything you should be concerned about_—_don't be scared! And finally, this fic is going to contain some foul language, so if you're uncomfortable with that, this might not be the story for you.

* * *

Prologue

**o**

_Things have gotten closer to the sun_

_And I've done things in small doses_

_So don't think that I'm pushing you away_

_When you're the one that I've kept closest_

**o**

So, this is what it's like to be the last man on earth.

Percy huffs out a dry laugh at the thought as he follows the bend in the road, gravel snapping like fire beneath the worn out tires of his car.

The midnight sky is the color of the deep sea, but it isn't calming at all. The feeling is all cold sweat and a heavy panic, like everything's closing in around him. Inching closer and closer and closer, suffocating.

But it's not, it's not that. It can't be that, because nothing's closing in. Nothing at all.

It's just Percy. Him and the long stretch of road ahead, the road and the streetlights that cast pale shadows across his windshield, pale shadows that brighten his shaking hands on the steering wheel and the stark emptiness of the backseat.

He may have had something to drink. He can't remember.

He can't even remember what he was doing this morning, to be honest. Can't remember if he went out and pretended to socialize or if he just sat in the darkness of his apartment as usual, thinking, drowning himself in his useless goddamn nostalgia. He doesn't even know where the hell he's driving to, he's just hoping that he ends up somewhere.

It's a been a hard day to feel real.

Everything looks the way it does in dreams, clear but a bit blurry, like it could change into something else at any second. The car radio is on low volume, voices filling up the space like static or soft rain, and Percy catches fragments of the conversation as he drives.

He's not really paying attention until, all of a sudden, he is.

"Well. I suppose that's all, folks. It's December fourth, two thousand and seventeen, and we've got about twelve days left until the end of the world."

Frowning, he fiddles with the buttons until the voices grow louder.

"What the hell are you saying, Will? Are you high?" A woman laughs over the speakers, her voice warm and hazy like the setting sun.

Percy stops at a red light.

Maybe, for someone else, it'd be harder to accept; they'd think it was a joke, a prank, and laugh it off. But Percy—Percy has no problem believing that he has twelve days to live. If he's honest, he thinks it's been a long time coming.

So he sits at the lonely intersection and he listens. The world seems to be asleep at this hour. No other car is in sight and suddenly, Percy's starting to remember. With the end of the world sitting less than two weeks away, he remembers those eyes.

Deep ocean eyes that grew shallow, loving eyes that grew cold, that grew tired.

The man on the radio laughs. "Oh, screw off, I'm serious! Apparently the world is going to end in, like, a fortnight or something. Solar flare, they're saying."

"Who's saying?"

"I don't know—the scientists? The perverted little weirdos who research the end of the world for a living?"

The woman laughs, but Percy can hear the flutter in it, the concern edging her voice. "Are you for real right now or are you just screwing around? Be serious."

"I'm for real! It was on the news earlier and everything. I think they were trying to keep quiet about it before, didn't want us breaking into shops and starting riots or whatever."

There's a pause in the conversation and Percy doesn't drive even when the light switches from red to green, from stop to go. He listens, he just turns off the engine and listens, because the world is ending in twelve days. In less than two weeks, the planet is going to be eaten up by the heat of the sun. The earth will fold in on itself and disappear, a bright speck of nothing against the dark sky of space, and it won't matter that he had a family once, that he was alive once. He's going to be dead.

Boom, boom, bang.

Hazel, Leo, Jason, Piper, Frank—they're all going to be dead.

Jesus, it's been almost a year since Percy has seen any of them, and almost five years since he's seen them all at once.

He scrubs a hand down his face, inhaling sharply.

When he starts listening again, the woman is asking: "Any regrets? Anything you would've done differently?"

Suddenly, the words seem distorted and far away, like the letters are out of balance, colliding with each other on their way out of the speakers.

Percy turns off the radio and sinks back into his seat, sinks back into the silence of his car. His breathing is heavy and he can't slow it down. Outside, the road is still empty, and so he presses his face against the cold glass of the frosted window and breathes in, trying to calm himself down. But the question is still there.

What does he regret? What would he have done differently?

He doesn't even see the other car coming.

It just comes, and then the world is exploding in a rush of warm light, fracturing the night sky like lightning, and he thinks it would shatter him if there was anything left of him to break. It's white against black, and white and black, and then memories, pulled to the front of his mind by the chaos, or maybe just by the sheer need.

And now it's images blurring, bathed with the red of the light, the red of the blood. His blood. The sharp copper sits in his mouth as he shouts and his vision shifts and blurs and in the brightness, he sees those gray eyes again, he sees the ocean, he hears a voice telling him not to come back and he hears himself saying, fuck you, I don't give a shit. I don't care anymore. Fuck you. I won't want to come back. He hears a door slamming, the same echo that ends up in every nightmare.

Metal against pavement. Flesh against bone. Lie after lie after lie.

Any regrets? Anything you would've done differently?

In the space between the light and the dark, Percy thinks he finds his answer.

* * *

Chapter 1

**o**

"Percy," someone says, and Percy stirs at the sound, blinking his eyes open and flinching slightly against the bright light.

"Hi," the person says again, softly, their words tired. It sounds lukewarm, Percy thinks, wrung out too tightly, but it's still there, however wary.

Percy tries to say something back and ends up making a throaty sound instead, blinking some more, bringing everything into focus.

Hazel, he realizes, is standing over him, face blurred up by the dim row of lights on the ceiling. Hazel, who Percy hasn't spoken to in nearly eight months now, is standing over him, looking tired and worn out and still like everything Percy remembers.

"Your hair grew," Percy says quietly, corner of his mouth lifting up.

"Percy," Hazel says, careful as she looks down at him. "You've been in an accident."

"I—" Percy cuts himself off, because it's then that he notices muted beeping in the background, the staccato heartbeat of machinery. He's got patches on his arms wiring him up to a machine, and his skin is pale, almost translucent. He can see the veins there, he realizes. Right there on his wrist.

There's something so pathetically fragile about that.

He can't even help but see himself the way he must look in Hazel's eyes, laid out pale and bruised on a hospital bed. Like a boy of skin and bones, maybe. Just a shadow of what he used to be. And god, he used to be so much. He used to be so good.

Percy stays quiet, his fingers brushing over his wrist as he looks around the room, Hazel's eyes heavy on the side of his face. The window on the wall beside his bed looks out onto the parking lot, and there are only a few cars scattered there, all of them blanketed in fresh snow.

The sky, though, is full of winter.

Snow falls down in quick, fat flurries and Percy wants to reach out and touch them. He also notices the row of green armchairs sitting in front of the window, all of them looking unused and empty, and he tries not to think too hard about the people that he wishes were sitting there.

Blinking, he turns back to face Hazel. "The world is ending, Haz."

Hazel ignores that, but she's looking at Percy like she's not quite sure what to say. Finally, she sighs. "I got a call when it happened, you know. We all did. The others are downstairs getting some coffee right now, they'll be up in a bit, but we were all so scared, Percy. You've been asleep for three days now, and the doctors weren't sure—"

"The others?" Percy repeats numbly, trying to sit up in bed. He winces at the pain that flares down his spine, shuffling back until his head rests against the wall. He doesn't think about the fact that he was dying, that he still is dying. Instead, he looks back over at the window, feeling Hazel's eyes on him as he speaks. "They're here, then? Is she—um, is she here?"

Hazel stays quiet for a moment. "Um, no. She had something, I think—"

"Don't," Percy says, and it comes off sharper than he intended. He turns back towards Hazel, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, you don't have to lie to me, all right? I get it. I understand."

"Percy," Hazel says. Her voice seems tired all of a sudden, and Percy doesn't want to hear it. Not here, where he can't get away from it, where it's not spilling out from the other end of a phone line. Hazel tilts her head to the side, looking sorry, and it's the worst thing Percy's seen in a while. "Percy. You left her, you know? You do know that, right?"

Percy laughs, bitter. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten." He nods, looking at the bruises on his hands. When Hazel doesn't say anything, Percy nods again. "I do, Hazel. I know."

"Okay," Hazel says. She moves Percy's legs over gently, like she thinks he might mess even that up, and sits down on the edge of the hospital bed. It's quiet for a while, broken up by the faint beeping of machinery, and then Hazel speaks up again. "You—all of you—were the best friends that I could have ever asked for, you know, to have gone through all that with. My life was like a dream thanks to the six of you and I—I mean, sometimes I just wish that we could still be as close as we were."

Percy stays quiet, watching Hazel's profile in the harsh light of the hospital room. Once again, he doesn't know what to say to that. He feels like he never knows what to say about anything. He knows it's all his fault—their group coming unraveled, the mess that they've become, he knows it. But he doesn't know how to put it into words or explain how sorry he is for all of it.

"The nurses," Hazel says suddenly, her voice low. Careful. "They said that you'd had your car parked in the middle of an intersection. That it was a green light and you'd just stopped there." Hazel breaks off on a slow exhale, turning to face Percy, biting her lip. "Were you—Percy, is this what you wanted to happen?"

Percy blinks, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"I'm asking if you wanted to die, Percy," Hazel says.

"Ah." Percy laughs, but it's short, stilted. He can't believe that Hazel's even asking him this. "Is that what they're saying, then? Is that what you're all thinking? Jackson tries to kill himself and fails? Come on, Haz. You know me better than that."

"I thought I did," Hazel says. "I really thought I did."

The words hit Percy like a punch, pushing him into silence.

For the first time since waking up, he wonders what they've been saying about him, what the doctors told them, and he wonders whether they all believed it, all those people he thought he'd know for the rest of his life. Jesus. The end of the world can be coming up over the horizon and people will still stop to watch him fall apart. Percy thinks he's lived his life too long in this unforgiving spotlight, thinks that maybe his shadow is being stretched too long. Distorted. The truth of it is becoming even harder to find.

Twelve. The year he met them all, the year his life began and ended. He wishes he could go back.

"Hazel," Percy says a few minutes later. "The world is ending."

Hazel smiles. "Seems like it happened ages ago, doesn't it?"

Percy shrugs. "There's going to be a solar flare."

"Yeah," Hazel nods, her fingers resting over the skin of Percy's ankle, pushing down a little on a bruise. It hurts, but Percy doesn't say anything. "I saw it on the news, that the sun's gonna come swallow everything up." Hazel pauses, shaking her head with a small laugh. The pale light slanting in through the open window turns the dark brown of her eyes into honey. "It was right before I got the call about your accident. Strangest moment of my life, really."

Hazel is still smiling, but Percy sees through it. He sees the truth in the dark shadows beneath Hazel's eyes, sees it in the way that her fingers are tightened around Percy's ankle like she's afraid to let go. Percy's hurt her – it's so obvious that he could cry. But he doesn't.

"I'm sorry," Percy says instead, moving forward to rest his chin in the dip of Hazel's collarbone. "I'm so sorry, Haz."

"Me too," Hazel says, tilting her head until the side of it is resting against Percy's forehead, and god, she's always been so small, but now Percy's the one who can't hold himself up without a hand on her shoulder. "Nine days left. Can you believe it?"

Percy shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything.

The silence sits between them and Percy's thoughts go on spinning through his head, shifting and insubstantial and chaotic. He doesn't even know what to think, what to focus on. He's twenty four years old and it's the oldest he'll ever be. That doesn't bother him as much as it should. He knows he's luckier than most, knows that there will be children and mothers and lovely souls swallowed up by the sun, but the thing is—he's wasted time.

More than anything, it's the time he's wasted that he regrets the most. It's all the good things he didn't do. Eight years ago, life was brilliant. He woke up every morning with the sun sitting inside of him. But that's all changed now. Jesus. He and his girl, they used to be so good.

When Percy finally speaks, his words fall into Hazel's ear, quiet like the snow outside. "How is she?"

Hazel's surprised, brown eyes flickering downwards as she shifts on the hospital bed like she's trying to move away from the question.

"Percy—" Hazel starts.

"—I just want to know how she is, Hazel. How she's been."

Hazel seems to think about it for a moment before shrugging, looking back up to watch the world outside the window. Like this, the snow turns the light crystal, and it washes in and glints off Hazel's hair like fire.

"She's good," Hazel answers finally. "I'd say she's good."

Percy nods, and he thinks he's glad to hear that. "Have you heard from her lately?"

"Yeah, I talked to her on the phone this morning actually," Hazel replies, and it's then that she catches herself, sighing as she twists her hair the way she's always done when she's uncomfortable. "Why are you doing this, Percy? It's been two years."

"I know it has," Percy agrees, even though really it's been five. "I just—"

"But you don't know, Percy. You have no clue." Hazel pushes herself off of the bed, walking over to stand in front of the window. Percy watches as her body becomes a dim silhouette against the muted brightness of the frosted glass, black against white and pale blue. "You didn't see her after you left," Hazel says, watching the snow spin like static outside. "She was a mess, Percy. She was a mess, and she's finally good again. Or at least she's getting there. I just don't want that to change."

"As if I have the time to change anything," Percy snaps, and the words come out sounding sharp around the edges. He doesn't care. He's annoyed, even though he has no right to be. "I get that I screwed up, Hazel. All right? I know that. I knew even when I was leaving that I was making a mistake, but I'm not the only one who messed up. She—Jesus, I just felt like she never cared about me—"

"Say that again, Percy, and I'll kill you before the sun even comes close." Hazel's voice is steady but there's a weight behind it, heavy and burning. Percy watches as Hazel huffs out a breath, shaking her head against the cold glass of the window. "Come on, Percy, you know she loved you. And you know you loved her too. We all knew it. From the moment it happened, we knew it. Everyone did. Everyone. Hasn't that always been the problem?"

Hazel says the words and then they're out, sudden and all at once. They seem to shatter over the cold tile of the hospital room like shards of glass, the pieces of truth that they've been trying to step around since the beginning of all this.

Percy doesn't even know what to say.

He's just thinking that, clearly, Hazel doesn't get it.

Clearly, Hazel doesn't understand what it's like to feel like the shame that somebody else keeps tucked beneath their tongue, mouth trapped shut even when it doesn't have to be. She doesn't understand what it's like, being told that you love too much, too loudly.

Percy takes a breath and the air feels acidic, burning holes in his lungs. "You're a bastard," Percy says, but he doesn't mean it.

Hazel gives a humorless sort of laugh, still facing the window. "No, I'm not. And neither are you. I'm just—all I'm trying to say is that she loved you. She adored you. And I know she cared about you just as much as you did her—"

"Sure, up until summer ended!" Percy shouts, startled by the harshness of his own voice. Anger swims in all the places where sadness used to be, bright red and electric, and Percy's just—he can't do this right now. He can't fight with Hazel when the world is ending. Swallowing, he rests his head back against the wall, staring at the hunch of Hazel's back. His voice is quiet as he says, "I just don't think I can go without saying goodbye, Haz."

Hazel turns back around, watchful. "I just—I want to ask you something."

"Shoot," Percy says.

"Are you still in love with her?"

"Am I what?" Percy stutters, caught completely off guard.

"It's an easy question. Are you still in love with her?"

Percy feels like it's a trick question, so he blinks, his fists clenching against the nervous feeling that's swimming in his fingers. "What do you want me to say, Hazel?"

Hazel moves one shoulder up, a tiny shrug, and shakes her head. "There's no right or wrong answer. I just want to know."

"Okay," Percy says slowly, and he doesn't even think about it before he says, "then no, I'm not."

"You're not?" Hazel repeats, her voice flat. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Percy says, and he feels like it should be the truth, but if he's honest, if he peels back his ribs and looks into the cobwebbed corners of his heart, he's not sure. In his mouth, the words feel heavy on his tongue, like something weighing him down. He tries not to think too much about it, because it's been five years, and also because the world is ending. He left, and now the world is ending. There's no time for whatever he thinks he might be feeling. Hazel's still looking at him though, so Percy continues, trying for a smile. "Hazel, I'm serious. I'll let you know if I change my mind, all right?"

"I don't think that's something you can just change your mind about," Hazel says, but her hands aren't fisted in the sheets any more, and Percy leaps at a chance.

"Maybe," he dismisses. "But. It doesn't—whether I'm in love with her or not, I still," he swallows, words caught in his throat, "I still love her."

Hazel's silent for a moment before she sighs loudly, and god, Percy wonders when she started doing that so much. But he says nothing as Hazel wipes a hand over her face, turning towards Percy with a frown. "She's not going to be happy to see you."

Percy nods, but his stomach suddenly feels heavy. "That's okay."

Hazel turns back to face the window, and a moment later, the door opens up and Piper and Frank are walking into the room, both of them carrying two cups of coffee each. Percy's breath almost hitches as he takes in the sight of two of his best friends, here with him for the first time in years, with a cup of coffee for him even though they weren't even sure.

"Hello," he grins, and his voice is slow.

"Good to see you, Jackson. I'm glad you're okay," Frank says first, smiling over at the place where Percy is sitting on the hospital bed. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Percy nods, smiling even wider. "You've got gray hair and everything, you salt and pepper beauty."

Frank laughs loudly at that, tossing a crumpled napkin at Percy's head. "Good one."

Percy chuckles, ducking the napkin, and then he watches as Frank walks over to Hazel, handing him a cup. Hazel takes it, smiling up at Frank in a way that's all warmth. Percy almost wonders if he's missed anything, but then Piper is sitting down on the edge of Percy's hospital bed, pulling Percy's eyes away.

"Look who's finally decided to join us," Piper grins, passing a cup of coffee to Percy. "Drink up, hon. You look awful."

Percy rolls his eyes but he's smiling as he takes the cup, bringing it up towards his face. The steam rises up, wet and humid, and he winces against the heat as he takes a sip, coffee bitter on his tongue and burning on the way down. "How'd you make it?" he asks, swallowing.

Piper shrugs. "Two milks, no sugar. That's how you drink it, right?"

"That's exactly how I drink it," Percy says, taking another sip. It's almost surprising to him that Piper remembers the way he drinks his coffee, even though it shouldn't be. It's just. He has such good friends. "Thank you."

"Least I could do for the bedridden hospital patient," Piper says, and it's light but at the same time Percy understands, can see that she's telling him _hello, I missed you, I hope you're okay_.

Percy laughs, and then it's quiet after that.

It's a weighted silence that fills the room up like water—not awkward, but heavy with questions that haven't been asked. It's so strange to think that Percy hasn't seen them in so long—these people that he once travelled the world with, that he once laughed and lived and loved with. Percy wonders how he let it get to this point, and he wonders if there's any chance for them to rebuild. He hopes so.

"Well, guys," Frank says suddenly, clapping as he turns away from the window. "I suppose we can't very well let the world end without a seven man reunion, can we?"

"Man and _woman_ reunion," Hazel says. Frank looks sheepish.

Piper raises her eyebrows. "I'm in."

Hazel leans back against the window, smiling. "Yeah, same here."

And Hazel looks at Percy, and Percy just nods.

"All right," Frank says, final. "Let's go, then."

"Okay," Percy says, though he doesn't know if it is, and then he's suddenly found himself on a road trip to the end of the world.


	2. II

Chapter 2

**o**

_Do you remember_

_What things looked like when you were young?_

_The voice of an old friend,_

_Or the notes to your first song?_**  
**

**o**

Since Percy's were bloodied and torn up in the car crash, Frank gives him a change of clean clothes—black jeans and a thick sweater to keep out the winter air, somehow warm and smelling of lemon. It feels like it's just been taken out of the dryer, and Percy knows that it's such a small thing, but still.

It's nice, you know? It feels good.

Percy strips out of his old clothes in the hospital bathroom, wincing at the cool air that makes goose bumps rise on his skin, and he tries not to look at himself too much in the mirror. So far, he's just caught glimpses—broken fragments of the person he's become.

It's a list he keeps track of. Not consciously, but it's there.

Green eyes washed out by everything that they've seen. Pale skin, milky and translucent beneath every harsh light. He looks sick, honestly, he looks worn out and he'll admit it.

He doesn't really know what else there is to do but admit it.

But. "Jesus," he breathes, catching sight of his bruises in the reflection.

They cover his body like constellations, a blur of blue and purple and black smudged across his ribcage. A thumbprint from god. Percy's never considered himself religious, really, but it's kind of poetic, if you ask him—the thought that something so lovely could hurt him so bad.

He's not sure if that makes him fucked up or easier to relate to.

Blinking, he turns away from his reflection, and he doesn't look back at the mirror as he dresses himself. He doesn't look back even as he washes his hands and ducks his face into the sink full of freezing cold water, shocking his system, waking himself up.

After that, he folds up his hospital gown and leaves it on some trolley outside a nurse's office, and he's not sure if anyone recognizes him as he makes his way out of the hospital, but he hopes that they don't.

These days, Percy walks like he doesn't want to be seen. Eyes down, hood up, hands in his pockets. He wears his regrets like a winter coat, all of the buttons done up tight.

And somehow, somehow—the goddamn thing still lets the cold in.

* * *

They stop at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, more than two hours away from their destination, and the others go inside to buy travel food while Percy sits in the passenger seat of Frank's car, his forehead pressed up against the frosted glass of the window.

He should call his mother, he decides.

Hazel's told her about the accident and she's also told her that Percy is fine, but Percy should still call her. He's her son, and there's nine days left until the world ends. He knows he's not going to make it to see her, especially considering that the last time they spoke—almost two months ago—she'd been talking about taking a trip to Europe with Paul. I want to see the mountains, she'd said. I want to see the sea.

And Percy just needs to hear her voice, doesn't he?

He wants to hear her—soft and lilting and warm, the way it was when he was a child with his small hand still wrapped around her finger, always running to keep up. Drawing in a breath, he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cellphone, pressing in her number and bringing it up to his ear.

She picks up on the second ring. "Hello?" Her voice is curling and familiar, blurred up by noise on the other end, a life that Percy isn't really a part of anymore.

"Hey," he breathes, shutting his eyes. "It's me."

"Percy?" Sally asks, her voice hitching. "Percy, baby, is that you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, hi, Mom."

"Oh, Percy," she says, and she sounds sad but he can feel her smiling, somehow. "I heard about your accident, honey. I almost had a heart attack until Hazel told me you were fine. They've shut down the airports, you know, I would have been there—"

"—God, you're such a mom, you know that?" Percy laughs, his eyes shut as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. Still, he's happy that she didn't mention whatever specifics she'd heard about the crash and how it had happened, if Hazel had even told her anything. "Don't worry about me, all right? I'm fine."

"Are you, Percy?" Sally asks softly. "Are you fine?"

"Yeah, what do you mean? Of course I'm fine." Percy says, rubbing over his eyelids. He takes a slow breath, and he doesn't really want to talk about himself right now. "You know the world is ending, Mom."

"Ah, so I've heard," she hums, and Percy smiles at the familiarity of it all. He suddenly misses her so much, so much that he feels it in his toes. "I think I'll go out to the ocean. I never did learn how to swim."

Percy chuckles, mouth turning up. He imagines the sounds of the sea. "I wish I could be there."

"So do I, baby," Sally sighs, and it's quiet for a minute before she speaks up again. "But I think you've got somewhere else to be, don't you?"

Percy hears what she isn't saying and he opens his eyes, forehead still resting against the cold passenger window. The sky is getting darker outside, fading from pale blue into a heavy gray, and he can see the others through the front window of the convenience store, waiting to pay at the front desk. His stomach is in knots.

"She hates me, Mom," Percy says, and the words seem too loud against the hushed atmosphere of the car. They echo outwards, somehow. They sit beside him and they seem true.

His voice breaks. "I really think she hates me this time."

"She could never hate you, Percy," Sally says, and Percy doesn't know how she could believe that, wonders if it's just bluster, just a mother trying to comfort a child beyond help. "You know that."

Percy shakes his head as if she can see him. "You never heard the things I said to her."

"And I don't want to. I don't need to, either," Sally replies. "Percy, I knew how much you loved her from the first time you said her name."

Percy laughs, a wet sound that gets stuck in his throat. "Mom—"

"You came home and you told me about her and you were such a lovely boy, Percy. Fourteen years old and just starting high school and you had the biggest spirit I'd ever seen on anyone." Sally pauses, hesitant. "You know, when you put yourself out there that first time, when you stepped into yourself, started becoming who you're supposed to be—I was so proud of you. I still am. I just wish I could have protected you from it all—"

"I know, Mom," Percy says. "You really did, though, like—"

"But she did try," Sally says, talking over him. "To protect you, I mean. She tried so hard, even when she was back in San Francisco, and that couldn't have been easy for her."

Percy shuts his eyes again, trying to calm himself down. It's no use, though. He feels like everything is shattering around him, just crumbling down. "God, I've screwed up."

"You can fix it, Percy. Just let her know how you feel—"

"I can't, Mom. It's too late. It can't be about that."

"Oh, but you don't you get it, Percy? It has to be," Sally says, telephone static blurring up her words, and Percy wonders how mothers always just know. "You have to fix this, Percy, or else you're going to die a sad little boy. That's not what I want for you."

"Yeah," Percy agrees, doesn't bother explaining that being twenty-four years old means he's not a little boy any more. Right now, all he wants is to be small again, to be new, to start over. He exhales sharply as the static grows louder. "Yeah, Mom? Mom, you're breaking up."

"What?" The word is distorted by the distance.

"Static," Percy says again, "I'm losing you."

"Oh." Sally speaks quickly, finally understanding. "Oh, okay, I love you. Um, I suppose if I don't get a chance to speak to you before…well, just know that I love you, Percy. I love you so much. I couldn't be more proud of you if I tried. I am so proud of you. You are the happiest moment of my life, you know. You always have been, and you still are."

"I love you too," Percy says.

And then his mother begins to cry, heavy sobs that sound like waves crashing over the telephone line. It's the sort of cry that only a mother can manage, the sort of cry that happens when they realize that part of their heart is walking around outside of them, on the other side of the world, too far for them to reach. And god, how Percy wishes she could reach him.

Percy's breath rattles on a slow exhale. "I love you, Mom. Tell everyone that I say goodbye—"

"God, I remember when you learned to walk." Sally laughs around her tears, almost hysterical. The static grows louder. "You were so happy, you were always so happy. My little boy—"

"I know, Mom. I remember too. Thank you for everything."

Sally cries louder at that, and Percy feels it inside of him, digging deep, and he thinks that mothers should never have to go through this, should never sit waiting while their children's lives tick away.

"Okay," Sally gets out, "Okay, Percy. I love you—"

And then her voice is cut off by the hollow beeping of the dial-tone, the whine of empty static t filling the car, and Percy breathes out shakily, shoving his phone into his pocket as he leans back in the passenger seat. "God," he breathes, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Oh, god."

Percy tells himself not to cry, and five minutes later when the others leave the store and head back towards the car, he still hasn't cried.

He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

* * *

"How long until we're there again?" Piper asks later on, her voice floating up like smoke from the backseat of the car. The sky is the pale pink color of dusk as they drive, snowy pine trees bracketing the open road on either side of them, and Percy grins as Frank heaves an irritated sigh from the driver's seat.

"Subtract five minutes from my last answer, Piper," Frank says.

Hazel smiles at that, and Piper rolls her eyes, tossing a piece of chocolate at the back of Frank's head. "Think you're such a smart-ass, don't you. Shut it."

Frank laughs, and then it's a moment later when the car becomes quieter again, hushed. Percy finds himself anxious; he hasn't quite settled back into it yet, into their easy banter and teasing, and it's not only his girl that he hasn't seen yet. Hazel had told him that Jason and Leo were already at their destination; seems like they'd been planning a big reunion dinner when it'd been announced that all 7.8 billion people on the planet had barely twelve days to live. Percy hasn't seen either of the boys in so long, and now he's racing toward them, lost minutes slipping through his fingers like water. He hopes the cold will finally dissipate this cloud that's been hovering over him for so long.

Time seems to stretch on slowly, seconds bleeding into minutes and then stopping, just for a little while, before beginning again.

Percy isn't sure if he ever wants to get there, to wherever they're going. He's not sure where that is yet and he's not sure if he ever wants to know. It's strange, making the choice to face his past—it almost feels like he's heading for the sun straight on, like he's screaming come on and burn me, I deserve it.

And he does deserve it, whatever might happen.

Percy's breath fogs in the air and all the windows are frosted except for the windshield, which looks out onto a road that seems to end at the horizon line, all tall snowy trees that canopy above their heads, casting shadows across their faces. Piper and Hazel are bundled up beneath a quilted blanket in the backseat, lit up by the weak sunlight slanting in through the windows. It strikes the dust in the air, setting it on fire.

"Frank, would you turn the radio on, love?" Hazel asks a while later.

Frank does, and Percy can't quite believe that Hazel just called Frank love. He doesn't comment, though, resting the side of his head against the passenger window instead, eyes shut tight as he listens.

A familiar voice is speaking on the radio, and Percy realizes that it's the same bloke from the night of the crash, Will. He's as loud and cheerful as ever, like the news he broke hadn't distracted Harry so badly that he got hit by a car. He knows it isn't the guy's fault, he really does, but it still makes him feel a bit removed, a bit disconnected.

"Alright, we've got someone called Miranda on line two," Will is saying, his voice spilling out into the car.

"Hello, Miranda? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," a voice responds, nervous and feminine.

"Great, great. This is Will from SOL Radio, and I'm hoping you were hoping to reach me. What's your question?"

"Hi, yeah. I was—I mean, I don't have cable or anything, so I was just wondering what's going to be happening nine days from now? I keep missing the details."

Will laughs, condescending. "Well, the world is going to end, sweetie."

"Oh, yeah, of course, but I mean. Like, how is it going to happen? You said something about a solar flare?"

"Yep, that's what they're saying. Solar flares happen all the time, really, but this one—this one is going to be massive." Will laughs, like it's a subject matter that's somehow amusing, and Percy finds him really quite annoying. "No getting out of it, I don't think. Sorry, doll."

"Oh, yeah, okay. Thanks," Miranda says slowly.

"Great, great," Will says again. "Well, would you like us to play a song for you, darling? Any special requests for the end of the world?"

"Um," Miranda starts. "Um, I don't know. It's okay, I don't really feel like music right now. You know?" she ventures, tentative, and yeah, Percy definitely knows.

"You'd rather just leave quietly?" Will prods.

"Yeah," Miranda says, and her voice sounds small in the stillness of the car, but Percy can hear the resolve in her, and he thinks he might feel it in himself, too. "I've always liked when things go out with a fizzle instead of a bang."

Percy doesn't think they're talking about songs any more, and every goddamn thing has to be reminder of his failure, doesn't it? Even after it's all fallen apart, Percy can't stop trying to put the pieces back together. He can't stop the hiccups in his heartbeat when he sees blond-headed strangers on the street, and he can't stop the way his lungs constrict every time it isn't her.

"Miranda, doll," Will laughs, startling Percy back into reality, "the whole world wants to go out with a bang."

"You can turn it off," Hazel speaks up softly from the back.

The car is silent without the hum of the radio, but Percy doesn't mind. It's a warm sort of silence, soothing.

And then, low: "You'd know all about going off with a bang, Percy."

"Can it, Piper," Hazel says sharply, right as Frank says "Christ, we aren't starting this."

Piper shakes her head, anger simmering up apparently out of nowhere, but Percy knows her too well and she's probably been sitting on this for a long time. "You didn't just leave her, you left all of us."

"I know," Percy says, and shit, he does. And the thing is, he knows they've all thought it, maybe are still thinking it. Hazel and Frank aren't ones for conflict, but Piper's never been one to reign herself in, and Percy has always respected that, can't blame her for it. At least someone can be honest with me, he thinks.

But he still feels numb—from the cold or something else, he's not sure.

And the thing is, of all of them, Piper might know. She probably understand how Percy feels best, because she went through it too, with Jason, when they broke up the year before Annabeth and Percy did. But Piper didn't leave, she didn't break off from their little group of seven and lock herself away. She got over it, and Jason did too, and a year after the two of them had split, they'd all thought the balance of the group had finally returned to normal.

Of course, that's when Percy had to go and fuck it all up.

He doesn't understand how drastically his life has changed for the worse—and yet he can't even let himself complain, can he? He'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted. Friends who always had his back, a family that supported him and loved him unconditionally; god, he'd found his fucking _soulmate_. And he'd just thrown it all away, said it wasn't good enough, and he'd landed himself here, and Piper's the only one with enough guts to call him out on his whining.

But. It's like one morning all those years ago, he woke up and he wasn't regular old Percy anymore—he was Percy Jackson, Sally Jackson's son. Percy Jackson, Jason Grace's friend. Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase's boyfriend. He could never be just _Percy_, and that's always been the problem, right there. He could never be himself without being part of someone else.

Frank squeezes Percy's knee, dragging him out of his thoughts. Blinking, Percy glances over towards him, and Frank watches the road as he speaks. "We know it's not true, you know. About the crash."

"I know," Percy says. He feels like he's agreed a lot, lately. He's starting to wonder whether he actually believes all the reassurances or if it's just easier to pretend.

It's whatever. The world resumes its silence and they continue to drive.

* * *

The sky is darker when the trees begin to thin out, the outside world passing by in a blur of sky and frosted pine needles. Hazel and Piper have both fallen asleep in the backseat, and Percy cups his hands in front of his mouth, breathing warmth. Frank's heater is definitely busted.

"Where is it we're going, by the way?" Percy asks, looking around. He knows they've been driving away from his apartment in New York City, but otherwise he has no idea. The place doesn't seem familiar yet, but it sort of does at the same time. It's all clips of passing trees and convenience stores, and Percy feels a sense of nostalgia that he can't really place.

"To her house," Frank says, not looking at Percy.

"Yeah? Where's that?"

Frank's quiet for a moment, and Percy watches as he takes a hand off the steering wheel and runs it over his face. "Uh," he says, gesturing absently with the same hand. "Long Island Sound, I suppose?"

"The Sound," Percy repeats, and it's like he can feel the anvil teetering over his head. "You mean, like. By camp?"

"Pretty much," Frank says, and. Camp, summer camp, as in the place Percy spent his summers from age twelve to eighteen. Camp, where they met, where they had their first kiss, their first everything. Holy shit.

Frank glances over at Percy, frowning before looking back at the road. "I'm sorry, I know I should've told you—"

"No," Percy shakes his head, feeling dizzy. "No, it's fine. Since when did she—is that where we are right now? I didn't see a sign."

Frank shakes his head, shadows playing over his face as he turns down a bend in the road. "Uh, no. We're about twenty minutes away from it, I think?"

Percy nods, but he feels like he's about to throw up.

Rolling down the window, he leans outside and closes his eyes against the cold winter air that floods into the car, a small tremor racking through his body. His stomach is fuzzy with sickness so he breathes in the frozen air, drinking it up, trying to calm himself down.

Camp. She lives on the Sound now.

She lives in Sound now, barely a blink from Percy's apartment, and Percy didn't know.

Jesus. It feels like just yesterday that they were there together, at camp—he remembers the sunlight and the lake and the hazy feeling of summer in the air, and meeting all these people, these lifelong friends. Everything had just felt so right; they all swore they could feel it in their bones. And Percy remembers the campfires, tucked away together at the back of the circle, and their closeness, the way he could feel his heart beating in his throat as he moved closer and closer and closer, and the simple thrill of her fingers finding his in the darkness.

It's been almost seven years since then. The world is ending, and they will never have summer again. Oh, god.

Percy tries to steady his breathing but he can't, he just can't, so he keeps his head outside of the window instead, dark hair blowing wild around his face. The air is loud in his ears and he tries to fall back into the sound of it, tries to think about anything other than what he's been thinking about, but it's useless.

"You haven't told her that I'm coming?" he shouts over the noise.

"Not yet," Frank yells back. "You think I should?"

Percy doesn't answer that, he just opens his eyes and breathes in.

The last time they spoke was two years ago, when Percy was drunk and angry and he had a phone. He doesn't remember what he said exactly, but he remembers the shouting, the loudness, the words shot like bullets across the line, hurling pieces of himself at her like that could fix them.

The last time they saw each other up close, though—that was five years ago, the day that they left their final year at camp.

Percy tries not to think too much about that day. It was all awkward goodbyes and stilted conversation, everything stiff, the friendship bracelets around his wrist feeling like they were cutting off his circulation. Everyone was making promises to stay in touch and Percy felt so guilty pulling away, but he felt like he was making the right choice, shedding a mere phase, getting ready to face the real world.

Looking back, though, Percy thinks maybe he didn't make the right choice at all.


	3. III

Chapter 3

**o**

_You said don't lie, so I made the truth_

_Seemed like a lie to even you_

_Control your fear; honey, it's clear_

_That you do not know where you're going to_

**o**

"All right, guys. This is it," Frank says, pulling up to the side of an unfamiliar road. The hum of the engine cuts off as he pulls the keys out of the ignition and shoves them back into his pocket, breath leaving his mouth in little white puffs as he rubs his hands together to keep warm. Looking over at Percy, he raises an eyebrow. "How are we feeling?"

"Like the world could end right now and I'd be fine," Percy says, ignoring the knot of nerves that tangle up in his stomach every time he opens his mouth. He looks out the passenger window, over at the large Tudor house that sits across the slush-covered road in the distance. It's at the end of a long driveway, surrounded by nothing but snowy trees, and ivy leaves snake up the sides and around the windows, still green in the middle of winter. There's a red mailbox, too. It's a lovely house. Of course it is, considering who lives here.

Percy exhales, shaking his head slowly. "I can't do this, Frank. I can't—"

"We're not turning back now if that's what you're trying to say," Frank says.

"You want us to go first, Percy?" Piper asks.

"It might be better that way," Hazel adds, head resting against Piper's shoulder. "We could test the waters for you, let you know how things are."

"No." Percy shakes his head, because that idea sounds just as bad as anything else. "No, just give me a second."

It's eleven minutes later when he finally gets out of the car, booted feet crunching over snow as he slowly makes his way up the drive. Tall pine trees feel like fences on either side, but he keeps walking, forces himself to keep walking as Frank's car grows smaller in the distance.

He's never been to Annabeth's house, and he doesn't realize how far back it's set in the woods until he's trying to reach it, the driveway seeming to go on forever. It's dark outside tonight, the waning moon casting just enough washed-out light for him to see. When Percy reaches the bottom porch step, he stops, thinking that he could still turn back now.

He's thinking about it, but then a light inside the house flickers on and Percy freezes in place as the screen door swings open, the bottom of it scraping over the snowy porch. Warm orange light filters outside, and then Percy's watching as someone steps out of the house.

The person's face is cast in shadow, thrown into a silhouette by the light shining from inside, but Percy still sees her clearly, somehow—the gray of her eyes is as piercing as always, cutting through the snow and the cold. And, christ, Percy can't even believe it. His heart's beating up into his throat and he think he might fall over, because he knows that body anywhere, he knows the soft outline of it like he knows his own name.

"Frank?" She asks, a smile in her voice as she walks out a bit further, shoulder resting against the open door. "Frank, is that you? I thought I saw your car drive up—"

Percy takes another step towards the house, pulled by something that he can't even control, and the light slips over his face, bringing him into focus, snatching away his shadow. The smile is gone from Annabeth's face so fast that Percy thinks it might not have ever been there at all.

Annabeth is staring at him, and Percy can't move. He feels like such an idiot now, showing up at Annabeth's house when the world is ending in nine days, but what else could he do?

"Percy," Annabeth says finally, and the word is flat, strange.

Percy can't even speak. Annabeth's just said his name for the first time in two years, and that does something to him, it really does.

He watches Annabeth and his heart is still lodged in his throat, taking away his words, cutting off his air. Annabeth looks just like he remembers, but also different—older, maybe. She's wearing sleep clothes, a long sleeve black t-shirt and sweatpants, and her hair is wispy around her face, glowing in the light like a halo.

"All right, I think I'm going to shut the door now," Annabeth says.

Percy stumbles forward, suddenly defensive. "No, just wait—"

Annabeth does, and Percy can see her clearly now beneath the light, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Beside the door, there's a patio set hidden beneath the snow, and Percy has a so much to say but for some reason he can't bring himself to speak the words out loud.

Not now, when the moment feels so sharp, so fragile.

"The world is ending, Annabeth," he says instead.

Annabeth doesn't answer at first. She just crosses her arms over her chest and leans further back against the open door with a sigh. "Yeah. Nine days now, is it?"

"Yeah," Percy says, scuffing the tip of his boot in the frozen slush. The world is quiet for a moment, snow falling down like ashes from the ink of the sky above, and Percy thinks he should say something, anything, about how goddamn sorry he is. The moment feels tense, stilted, but he pushes through. "Annabeth—"

"Hey!" Someone says, scattering the conversation, and Percy turns to see Hazel making her way up the drive, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her parka. "It's been too long, hasn't it? How've you been?"

And Percy doesn't miss the way that Annabeth suddenly lights up, her mouth lifting into the kind of smile that used to be all for Percy. And fuck, that hurts, doesn't it? "Come off it, Haz. I saw you just the other day."

No, Percy doesn't miss it. He sees it and a strange feeling spreads through him as he remembers what that woman on the radio had asked on the night of the crash, right before he lost control.

_Any regrets? Anything you would've done differently?_

"The others are back in the car. They'll be up soon," Hazel is saying when Percy starts listening again. "Are Jason and Leo inside?"

"Yeah, they're sleeping on top of each other on the sofa," Annabeth laughs, carefully turned away from Percy. Then: "The others?" Annabeth asks, rising on her tip-toes to look into the distance. Percy follows her gaze, turning to see that Frank's car is still visible through gaps in the snowy trees. There's the distant sound of a car door opening and slamming shut, and then the faint noise of conversation as Piper and Frank start making their way up the driveway.

Annabeth says, "You're all here, then?"

"Yep." Hazel walks up the porch steps, picking her feet up comically high to wade through the snow, and she brings Annabeth in for a hug once she reaches her. "End of the world reunion, that sort of thing. Apparently Percy here couldn't let go of the idea once he heard about you and the boys getting together."

Percy shakes his head, wishing that Hazel would just shut up. "I didn't—"

"You can come inside," Annabeth says suddenly, her smile faltering. She's looking at Hazel, not even glancing at Percy. "It's freezing out here, isn't it?"

"Freezing," Hazel agrees, grinning even though her teeth are chattering, and she throws Percy a smile over her shoulder like she's just fixed his entire life. Which, no.

Percy watches, uncertain, as Annabeth steps away from the door and turns back inside, Hazel following after her. And then there's a small stretch of space where Percy is out in front of the steps alone—Piper and Frank still looking like dark specks against the muted ivory of the trees in the distance—and he just wants lay down in the snow and sleep until the sun swallows him whole.

He wasn't sure what to expect from Annabeth, but he hadn't been expecting this—the almost-polite tiredness, like Annabeth's sort of fed up but doesn't want to bother with it, because Percy's not worth it, or because Percy's not worth anything. Especially not now, when the world is ending. Maybe for Annabeth, Percy was a mistake made when she was too young to know better. That's the thought that hurts more than anything.

And Percy doesn't even know where his thoughts are at, really.

They're just swimming around in his head, dark seeking dark, light getting lost, and he tries not to think too much about the way Annabeth looks now and what that does to him. And okay, yes, he's probably being unfair, sulking outside in the cold like Annabeth's the one who did this to them, but he just keeps remembering how they used to be—so close that Percy could tell him anything, so close that they could've been the same person. But five years is a long time, isn't it?

Life keeps moving, that's what Percy realizes now.

It just keeps moving. Like a storm, it didn't stop when he wanted it to, but it's stopping now, when he so badly needs the rain.

Percy huffs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Jesus." This metaphor thing is getting out of hand.

"Are you coming inside?" Piper asks suddenly, snow muting her footsteps as she walks up to the porch. Frank is standing by her side and both of their faces are flushed beneath the light slanting out from inside, snowflakes dusted across their eyelashes like dust.

After a moment, Percy says, "Yeah." He takes a deep breath, which is maybe a little pitiful, but. "Yeah, I am."

And so he does.

* * *

The house is warm.

That's the first thing Percy notices when he steps inside, slipping out of his shoes at the doormat and looking around the circular foyer, at the walls paneled halfway with dark wood and the rest with a stretch of flat stone. It seems fitting, too, that the one warm place in the middle of winter is Annabeth's home, with its arched roof and crisscross of wooden beams, a softly lit chandelier casting a yellow glow across the gleaming wood of the walls.

There's a staircase leading upstairs and two doorways—one leading into a kitchen and the other leading into a room that has the lights turned off, all of the details unclear.

"Seriously, Annabeth, I'm telling you," Piper starts with a smile, shrugging out of her jacket and hooking it over the coat stand beside the door, "this place is like a ski resort."

Annabeth rolls her eyes, but Percy can tell that she's pleased. "You say that like you've never seen it."

And it isn't until Percy notices the way that Frank and Piper and Hazel have all taken off their jackets, tossing them messily over the coat rack with their scarves and gloves, that he realizes he's the only one of them who actually hasn't seen the place before.

Percy keeps his jacket on, hands shoved deep into the pockets.

"I'm guessing you guys might be hungry by now, right?" Annabeth asks, looking around at the group, her gray eyes landing on Percy's, just for a moment, before looking away again. "I could order in?"

"I personally think that'd be great," Frank answers, raising his hand like he's in elementary school and managing to sound unsure as he checks around the room for confirmation, thick eyebrows raised.

Hazel smiles at him, soft—Percy thinks again that he's missed something here, that maybe he's been absent while the two of them have finally sorted themselves out. Then Hazel blinks, nods towards Annabeth. "Yeah, sure, that would be great," she says. "Thanks."

"You can count me in," Piper says, voice strained as she struggles with her boots. "Oh, and can we have some hot chocolate, too? I'll make it."

Annabeth smiles, running a hand through her hair. "Sure, you know which cupboard it's in." She turns to the other three. "The TV's just in the next room, and I know Leo and Jason wouldn't mind if you woke them up, so if you want to wait in there while I call the pizza place—"

Percy clears his throat, cutting Annabeth off and blinking against the feeling of everything moving in around him. He's panicking and he's not sure why, but his jacket suddenly feels tight and he just needs to get away from this, just for tonight. "I'm actually feeling sort of—ill," he says, chancing a glance at Annabeth. "So if I could just—I'd like to lay down, if that's okay?"

He feels sort of out of place asking to lay down in a home that doesn't belong to him, a place he isn't even sure that he's welcome, but he feels even more out of place standing in a foyer with the one person that he used to know as well as his own voice, the one person that he doesn't know like that anymore.

Annabeth is quiet, watching Percy with her stained glass eyes, and Percy can't understand what Annabeth's trying to tell him. He might have understood once, but that time is gone now, and so the silence just sits between them, filling the empty space.

And then Annabeth sighs—she just sighs, but Percy feels it in his gut.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't it be okay?" Annabeth says easily, gesturing towards the wooden staircase behind her. Her voice sounds disconnected, faraway. "There's an empty room at the end of the hall, you can sleep there. There are blankets in the closet if you need them."

"Thanks," Percy says, and it comes out rough and unwieldy, but he doesn't know what else he can say.

"You haven't said hello to Leo and Jason yet," Piper says, and fuck, can't she just let him go?

"I'll see them in the morning," Percy dismisses.

"You sure you don't want something to eat?" Piper asks slowly, watching Percy with a question in her eyes, a question nothing like the one she just asked.

Percy shakes his head, not making eye contact. "I'm not very hungry, to be honest. Had a lot of snacks in the car, you know." He edges towards the stairs. "I'll see you in the morning."

Piper nods, biting her lip, and Percy walks past her and Frank and Hazel, making his way towards the steps that lead upstairs. He passes Annabeth, who says nothing, just steps aside stiffly and lets him pass—and he realizes again that the world is ending in nine days, and he's made a huge mistake.

* * *

Upstairs, the room is dark and moonlight slants in through the open blinds that cover the window, bathing the room in a pale silvery light.

Percy is too worn out to pay attention to anything other than stripping out of his jacket and climbing into the empty bed, closing his eyes against the sound of his own breathing and the static blankness of snowstorm moving outside. I'm not in love, he thinks. He can't be. He was being honest when he said that to Hazel, it's just—seeing Annabeth has messed that all up, hasn't it? Just seeing her, that's all it took. Just remembering.

And Percy remembers everything.

He remembers the love and the warmth that Annabeth used to have for him, all for him. His mother and Hazel were right. Even when Percy was sixteen years old with limbs too big for his body, Annabeth loved him, she absolutely loved him. And he loved her too, so much that sometimes he thought he might take one breath too big and just float away on it. He remembers her like she's branded on the inside of his eyelids, remembers pressing kisses along the insides of her thighs back when it was easy to tell her that she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"What are you doing?" Annabeth had giggled one night, years ago, spread out on Percy's old twin bed with Percy kissing up her shoulder, small kisses that felt much bigger. They'd gotten back from dinner a while ago and she'd had her fingers tangled in up Percy's hair, just resting there. "That tickles, Percy."

Percy had laughed at that, his breath falling warm onto Annabeth's neck, nosing into the collar of her shirt. Percy loved it, the smile she got on her face sometimes without realizing, quirked up at the corner and just for him. It felt good, considering he was always going around looking like lovestruck puppy. It felt good to make their smiles match.

"Shut up," Percy had said, sucking kissing over Annabeth's pulse point. There was a bruise there the next day. "I'm trying to be romantic over here."

Percy shifts, pushing the memory away as he presses his face down into the pillow, arms wrapped tightly around the back of it like he can't live without it. He tells himself not to cry, and he doesn't.

He dreams of gray eyes and a sun that sets everything on fire.


	4. IV

Chapter 4

**o**

_Pick you up, let you down_

_When I wanna go to a place I can hide_

_You know me, I had plans, but_

_They just disappeared to the back of my mind_

**o**

When Percy wakes up, he's lost.

It's just for a moment, but the moment is still there.

He's confused, really, thinking that maybe he's still asleep, that maybe he's still just sixteen—but then the room swims into focus, clear morning light slanting in through the window and turning the dust in the air into glitter, and he remembers where he is.

He also remembers that the world is ending, that everything is going to be gone soon, and that it's been years since he's had a good year.

Rubbing at his eyes, Percy keeps his gaze on the ridged stucco of the ceiling, watching the watery lines of light that bump across it. Noise floats up from somewhere downstairs, but Percy stays still, trying to remember the point of all this.

The room looks different in the morning. Friendlier, somehow.

Like the foyer downstairs, the walls of the room are paneled in wood, and there's a window opposite the bed, curtains opened up wide to let the sun in. Outside, the world is white with snow. There are frosted pine trees and in the distance Percy can make out the hints of a pond, pale blue and frozen over with the cold.

Sitting up slowly, he lets the sheets fall away from his chest as he scrubs a hand down his face, yawning.

"Morning," someone says, and Percy turns to see Leo standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he rests against the frame. His hair is wild with sleep and he watches Percy, grinning. "You look pretty awful."

Percy laughs, a one-syllable sound. "Thanks. Now get over here and say hi."

Leo ambles in, bouncing down to sit on the bed. "Hi," he says, and then he throws his arms around Percy and hugs him hard.

"Hey," Percy says, arms coming up to hug back. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has," Leo says, pulling back to wag his finger in Percy's face. "What happened to keeping in touch, dude?"

Percy shrugs. "I, uh, didn't."

Leo rolls his eyes. "Obviously." But his voice is soft, smile fading as he leans back a little, eyes searching. "Did you sleep alright, then?"

"Like the dead," Percy says sleepily, kicking off his sheets and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling cold in only his boxers.

Leo nods, but he doesn't say anything.

He just sits across from Percy on the bed, and his eyes have a question in them. It burns there, too dim for Percy to read it. It doesn't feel strange or anything, the silence, it's just—well, Percy can tell that Leo wants to say something. He's just not sure if he wants to hear it.

"Piper said you came up early last night," Leo says finally, and it's not really a question, except that it is.

Percy smiles. "I'm okay, Leo."

Leo makes a face at that, licking his lips like he can't quite word what he wants to say. He's dressed in all black, the bottom of his sweat pants bunched into his socks, and he looks cozy. "No, you're not. And I mean with Annabeth."

Percy pretends to think about it for a second, but he doesn't think about it at all. "Why wouldn't I be okay with Annabeth?"

There's a noise downstairs, the clashing of plates and silverware, and Leo watches Percy for a second before getting up to shut the door behind him. He comes to sit down beside Percy again, his voice is slow like honey when he speaks. It's careful. "We only have eight days left, you know."

Percy nods. "Yeah. I've heard."

"Yeah," Leo repeats, and then: "Listen, Percy. I know I don't really ever, like, give advice to you and stuff, so I'm not expecting you to listen or anything, but—"

"—Leo." Percy cuts him off, tugging a hand through his hair. "Please."

"All right," Leo says slowly, hands raising in defense. "But you should think about it. And I mean really think about it."

"I don't think I should, actually," Percy says with the kind of laugh that isn't a laugh at all. He stands up and grabs his duffle bag off the floor. He tosses it onto the unmade bed with a thud, unzipping it with his back to Leo. "I think that's a terrible idea."

Leo is quiet as Percy rummages through his stuff, grabbing a thick long sleeve shirt and pulling it over his head before hopping into a pair of gray long-johns. He'll shower later, he thinks, sitting back on the edge of the bed. Leo still hasn't said anything.

"Everyone's up, then?" Percy asks.

"They're downstairs making breakfast. Frank's still sleeping, though," Leo says as he turns to face Percy. Percy thinks he looks like someone approaching a wide eyed deer.

The light coming in through the window brightens the one side of Leo's face, and Percy notices for the first time how much Leo has grown. Grown up, grown sad, and maybe a little distant, Leo has changed. But he's still around, he's still trying, and that's more than Percy's been able to give to anyone.

"I'm sorry," Percy breathes out suddenly, just as Leo scoots down next to him on the bed. The mattress groans, dipping gently beneath his weight.

"How come?" Leo asks, putting an arm around Percy's shoulder.

The feeling is warm and familiar, bringing Percy back to a day that feels like it was lifetimes ago—the last day of camp, all those summers building up to lots of tears and more hugs than he could count.

"Because I did this," Percy says finally, his voice thick with feeling. The words slip between them, flooding the empty space, water beginning to spill past the dam. When Leo doesn't say anything, Percy rubs at his eyes. "I mean, look at us, Leo. Just look. We used to be best friends, the seven of us, and now—Jesus, I don't even know what we are now."

"We're still best friends," Leo says. "It's that simple."

Percy shakes his head at that, smiling but not happy about anything. "No, it's not. You know it's not."

"Why can't it be?" Leo asks, almost upset as he brings his legs up onto the bed. He sits cross-legged, dark eyes heavy on the side of Percy's face. "Look, man. All I know is that the world is ending—"

"—Yeah, you've told me," Percy mumbles, watching his own feet. The pale gray of them stand out against the deeper color of the carpet.

Light against dark. Light swallowed up. Percy doesn't like it.

"No, just listen." Leo groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Just—all I know is that the world is ending. And all of us haven't been in the same place for how many years, but now the world is ending and we're here. Together."

Percy's not understanding. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that we're best friends," Leo says.

And then Percy does understand, because it really is that simple.

Leo doesn't explain it, he doesn't write it down on paper—it's just his words, his reasoning, and Percy finds something comforting about that, so he takes the words out of the air and tucks them into his pocket, safe.

"Thanks," he says, glancing over at Leo.

Leo laughs, he's blurred out by the morning light that trickles in through the window, soft and slow.

"Come here," Leo says, and then he pulls Percy in towards him. His voice is muffled, but Percy hears him anyway. "You've got to stop blaming yourself, alright?"

The words are quiet, but they ring out, loud as hell in his ears.

Percy nods, his throat feeling thick again. "I'll try."

"Good," Leo says, "good." He hugs Percy again, this time one of those manly hugs with lots of back-patting and grunts, and then he stands up and moves towards the door, opening it up again before turning to look at Percy. "You hungry?"

* * *

The kitchen is empty.

It's kind of weird, Percy thinks, following Leo downstairs. Their feet pad over the dark wood of the floorboards, their socks making soft whish-whish-whish noises, and he tries not to think too much about it, about the people that could be in it, but the kitchen is empty.

Even so, he stays by the doorway, feeling like an intruder, as Leo walks further in, the frame of his body lit up by the sunlight that glosses in through the sliding door. The glass is frosted, but Percy can still make out a snow-covered balcony, the blankness of the backyard, and a sky like milk—a sky that's pale, that pours itself over everything.

The kitchen, too, is all cool colors.

The walls are tiled in a flat mosaic of stones and there's a bowl of lemons and limes sitting on the island in the center, a splash of color against the nothingness of the winter outside and the shy taupes of the room. There are wooden beams on the ceiling. Seven lights hang from them, and they're all turned off. Percy thinks about that, about the unintentional irony of everything.

It doesn't seem like the kind of kitchen that Annabeth would own. Back when they shared an apartment, Annabeth forced Percy to paint an entire wall red. It's a sad sort of thought, but Percy thinks it. And he thinks about the nights that they spent pressed together against that wall—he thinks about those nights until he makes himself stop.

"It's kind of bullshit, isn't it?" Percy says after a moment, moving further into the kitchen. "That the world is ending."

Leo shrugs, laughing a little bit. "Yeah, I guess it is," he says, making his way around the island to the counter on the far side of the room. Opening up a cupboard, he reaches in to grab a mug, glancing over his shoulder at Percy. "Tea?"

"Coffee, thanks," Percy says.

As Leo digs around to fill the kettle, Percy walks towards the sliding door. He keeps walking until his forehead is pressed up against the cold stretch of the glass, his breath painting out patterns on every exhale.

He wipes the frost away, and he still has to squint against the sun even though the light is weak and uncertain, watered down by winter.

Strange how something so far away can still reach you, still burn you.

Staring at it for a moment before he has to blink hard and look away, Percy thinks again that it's all bullshit. His hands rise up to touch the glass, and the sun just seems so small from where he is, but it's there. That's it. Right there.

The end of the world.

It's right there, and he can't do anything about it.

So, yeah, like he said before—bullshit.

His forehead is starting to feel numb but he doesn't move, his eyes beginning to wander around the frozen backyard. There's a patio set sitting on the balcony, hidden beneath a layer of snow, and below the balcony, there's a yard that stretches out into a forest, tall trees scattered on either side, pallid.

A movement catches Percy's eye—sudden, coming up out of nowhere—and his breath stutters as he notices two figures below, circling each other in the snow, their heads bent back with laughter that Percy can't hear.

Piper is dressed in white, almost blending in with winter as she moves.

But Annabeth—Annabeth's jacket is bright red, and Percy can't look away.

Not because of the red, but because of the Annabeth. She's a flame against the bleak dust of snow, spinning wildly and looking like a bird on fire, like a destination. That's it, Percy thinks again. Right there. The end of the world.

And there's nothing that he can do.

"Damn it," he breathes, cold fingers curling up against the glass.

He's here, and Annabeth's there. Is that what this is? Is that how this works?

Percy keeps watching, he just watches for a moment—and then the moment snaps in half, it just breaks completely, because Annabeth isn't spinning anymore—she's looking straight up at the place where Percy is standing behind the glass door, her face blurred in a pale smudge by the distance.

Percy freezes in place, but his heart goes on stuttering.

Can Annabeth see him? Can Annabeth see past all the frost?

Breathing slow, Percy lets one of his hands fall away from the glass, and then it's almost like he's waving, but not quite, and Annabeth's still looking, her head tilted upwards, red jacket shining like a beacon.

Any regrets? Anything that you would've done differently?

"Damn it," Percy says again, because he misses her.

He's suddenly so aware of the distance between them, and it's hard, it's hard because the world is ending and because it already has—it ended five years ago and every day since, again and again and again.

Percy has become the master of repetition.

Annabeth stares for just a moment longer and then she turns away, still bright against the muted stretch of snow.

Piper is making a snow angel and Percy watches as Annabeth lays down beside her, Annabeth's head turned so that she's looking at the side of Piper's face.

"Drink up," Leo says, suddenly standing beside Percy.

He passes him a steaming cup of coffee and Percy takes it, glancing over and noticing the way that Leo's dark eyes have settled on the two people in the distance, on the figures making shapes in the snow.

They're both quiet for a while, watching, and Percy catches the sound of a shower running upstairs.

"I like her," Leo says casually, breaking up the silence.

Percy frowns, taking a small sip of his coffee and cringing slightly at the too-sweet taste. "Who?"

Leo rolls his eyes. "Piper, duh."

Percy laughs. "I like her too."

For a moment, it almost seems like Leo is about to say something else, but then he just makes a noncommittal noise, the sound muffled around the lip of his mug. "I need a shower. See you in a bit."

"See you." Percy smiles, watching as Leo walks back out of the kitchen, footsteps echoing as he makes his way upstairs.

Percy is still for a second, and then he turns back towards the glass door, stomach dropping when he takes in the empty backyard. It's just a stretch of trees and snow, the pale sun shining like a reminder.

Percy sighs, his forehead falling down against the glass with a thud, fingers grasping at the place where Annabeth used to be.


	5. V

Chapter 5

**o**

_Have you got color in your cheeks?_

_Do you ever get the feeling that you can't shift the tide,_

_That sticks around like something's in your teeth?_

_And some aces up your sleeve, I had no idea that you're in deep_

_I've dreamed about you nearly every night this week_

**o**

"Eight days left on the clock, Travis. How is the world reacting?"

The woman on the television screen is pretty for her age and completely done up, dark red mouth stretching into a smile. It's tight, faked.

She has black on her eyelids, on her dress, in her eyes. Percy thinks maybe she's mourning. As the camera zooms in, Percy notices a lipstick smudge on her teeth, stark against the whiteness of them. He imagines the way her hands might have shook as she did her face up earlier, getting ready to casually speak about the end of the world.

Percy wonders who she is, if she loves anybody.

The image cuts to that of an older man, thin, brown hair beginning to recede. "Well, Thalia," Travis laughs after a moment, finger resting over his ear-piece. "I think it's safe to say that the world is absolutely panicking. Crime rates have soared since the flare was announced, and there has been an increase in random suicides."

"Jesus," Jason groans from beside Percy, his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa. "This is so depressing."

"I agree," Hazel says, her voice floating up from the other side of the room. She's sitting on the larger couch, folded up on Frank's lap, face lit eerily by the blue light of the television. Piper sits on the floor in front of them, head resting against Leo's knee.

"Is that so?" Thalia asks Travis on the screen, pretending to be shocked.

"Sure is, Thalia. Thousands of families across the globe have been occupied building underground shelters that they hope will help them withstand the heat. We'll be speaking with one of these families after the break," Travis says, and then the show cuts away into a commercial.

"Not watching that," Annabeth snorts, pointing the remote at the television and pressing the off button. The screen flickers off, plunging the room into a pale sort of dimness.

Afternoon sunlight slants in through the curtains, igniting dust.

"I never understood those kind of people," Piper speaks into the silence, head tilted upwards so that she's sort of looking at Leo, but not really. "Like, people who build shelters and all that. When the end comes, just let it come, you know?"

"I dunno," Leo says. "I think it's good to have hope."

"Yeah, but not when it's useless," Jason says, shifting to put his feet up on the sofa. "Don't think anyone's coming out of this one alive."

"So you'd build a shelter?" Piper asks Leo, her eyebrows knit.

Leo shrugs. "I don't see why not. Only if you all came with me, though. No point in surviving alone."

"Aw. How nice, Leo," Hazel smiles, profile edged in silver light.

Annabeth doesn't say anything. She's been pretty quiet all afternoon.

Percy watches the side of her face for a moment, green eyes trailing downwards to the bow of her lips, to the way the tendons in her neck move when she breathes, up and down, up and down, and then away again.

"We'd end up dying of starvation," Piper argues.

"Radiation, too," Frank adds. "We'd grow extra legs and stuff, I heard that can happen."

Leo tries to look affronted, but it's almost a smile. "It's not a nuclear bombing, Frank. There's no radiation."

"Yeah, because you've survived so many solar flares in your life," Jason laughs.

Leo rolls his eyes and then it's quiet for a moment until Hazel lifts her head up off of Frank's shoulder and glances towards Percy, eyebrows raised in question. "What about you, Percy? Underground shelter or solar flare?"

Percy's all too aware of their eyes on him—of Annabeth's eyes on him, the palest of gray but still so heavy, somehow—and so he tries to think about the question for a second, because he wants to do his best to give an honest answer.

Eight days from now, the sun is going to swallow them whole.

A small speck of light growing into something bigger, something deadly. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. None of them will ever be here again.

"Um," Percy says finally, making sure not to look at anyone in particular. "I think I'm going to go with hope? Hope is good."

Piper groans, shaking her head. "You too? I swear to god."

Percy smiles, shrugging a bit, but he can still feel the weight of eyes on him, growing heavier, burning hot against his skin.

Annabeth's eyes—he knows them like he used to know himself.

But, still. Even though he's prepared, his breath still hitches when he meets Annabeth's gaze from across the room, sees the shadows moving across the soft lines of her face.

She looks like winter, all snowy blue and lilac, and Percy misses her.

Percy misses her so much that it hurts.

Annabeth looks away first, her eyes flickering to Jason's face instead. Percy keeps on watching her, remembering the last time that they spoke on the phone, when Percy was so drunk that he was seeing stars.

_You were a piece of shit, Annabeth. But you were my piece of shit._

Percy had slurred the words over the telephone line, tried for an apology once his alcohol-addled brain had caught up with his mouth, but any chance he's ever had shattered the moment he let the words leave his mouth.

He hadn't said it because he meant it, that Annabeth was a piece of shit, but because the truth—the _I still love you, I'm sorry, come back, please, I love you_—all of those words had felt like losing at the time, and he was too angry and bitter for that.

Annabeth had stayed quiet, letting the silence stretch between them.

_Percy_. She breathed finally, and Percy's eyes had shut tight against the sound of Annabeth's voice breaking. It was like a wave, almost.

Soft, crashing over a shore. You could drown in that voice.

_You're drunk_, Annabeth continued. _And you're an asshole for calling me. And I'm an idiot for picking up the phone. I'm an idiot for even remembering your number in the first place_. Annabeth broke off on a sigh, and Percy could imagine her rubbing at her eyes, feeling tired, worn out. _Hang up the phone, Percy, okay? Just go to bed. And don't call me again._

Percy remembers shaking his head, almost laughing. _Screw you, Annabeth._

_Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Percy_. And then she hung up.

And that was it. For two years, that was it.

And now Percy's here in Annabeth's home, and the world is ending in eight days, and he has no idea where to start. If he's honest with himself, he knows that Annabeth doesn't love him anymore. Deep down, he knows it, and he knows he's crazy if he thinks he's going to change that.

But it's okay. It's more than fair, really. Percy just needs to make things right. He needs to make it better somehow, at least a little bit better.

"Percy? You all right, man?" Frank asks quietly, shattering Percy's thoughts.

The other six are in the middle of a conversation and the television's back on now, playing reruns of some old cartoon that Percy can't remember the name of.

Percy nods. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just thinking."

"Well, don't." Frank says, whispering the words across the sofa. Percy can feel his smile, even though he's not looking over to see it. "I can hear your thoughts from here."

* * *

The rest of the day seems to slip past them quickly.

The sky has darkened from a bloodless gray into a deep blue, snow blank and empty like a stretch of nothing outside. Percy feels lethargic, moving like he's swimming. Frank went to get more chips and Hazel migrated to Percy in his absence, cuddling up under his arm. She's small and sleepy and Percy feels overwhelmingly endeared by the way she yawns and rubs at her eyes.

"You awake?" he whispers, quiet under the hum of conversation coming from Jason and Piper and Leo, huddled together on the other couch.

"Yeah," she whispers back. "It's just. You know."

"Yeah," Percy nods, and lets the silence stretch out for a bit. He catches her eyes following Frank and bites back a smile. "Just you know."

"What?" Hazel says, snappy, and Percy smiles, pokes her side.

"Shush," he tells her. "It's cute."

"What's cute," she sniffs, but he feels her smile against his neck. A moment later, and: "Thanks, Percy."

"'Course," Percy says, and when Frank comes back and Hazel jumps up to sit by him, the grin that stretches across his face is genuine for the first time in ages.

* * *

Everything's quiet for a while, then. It's half past midnight when they finally decide to call it a day, all of them heading upstairs to their own rooms.

Piper and Leo head up first, and Jason is already asleep on the sofa, so they leave him because he's the type of person that would appreciate that.

Frank and Hazel look content to just be curled up together on the couch for a while, so Percy follows Annabeth upstairs, watching the way that her legs move beneath the fuzzy purple cotton of her sweatpants, her socked feet making small sounds over the wooden steps of the stairs.

There were nights like these before, back when they were younger and when they were good—nights when they would be heading upstairs to the same room, grinning as they snuck away from everything else and into each other, spilling secrets into each other's mouths like it was the only place where they could be kept safe.

It's strange to think that, now, when Annabeth is so close. Right there, and yet she's still so far away. And it's strange to think how something such a great distance away can still stretch out and touch you, can still burn you.

Once they reach the landing, Annabeth turns back towards Percy.

She doesn't say anything. They just look at each other for a moment and the moment stretches on, gray eyes locked on green, green eyes looking back. Annabeth, like this, isn't what Percy is used to.

She seems indifferent, she seems worlds away from what she used to be.

Percy stands frozen on the top step of the stairs, watching Annabeth as she stands outside her bedroom door, leaning back against it with her arms crossed.

Neither of them speak, and it almost feels like Annabeth is giving him a chance to say something, anything, but then the moment is over and Annabeth is sighing, the sound of it breaking up the silence like a gunshot or something worse.

"Goodnight, Percy," she says.

Percy nods, doesn't know what else he can do.

Annabeth sort of smiles, an upturn of the mouth with no warmth behind it, and then she's turning back and pushing open her door. In the gap, Percy catches small pieces of a huge window and a bed, the colors bleached out by the moon.

He needs to say something, anything. He needs to try. Just as Annabeth steps inside his bedroom, Percy opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

Annabeth is the sound stuck in his throat.

"I know—I get that you're not too happy to see me, Annabeth, but I'm happy to see you," Percy starts, and the words leave his mouth slowly. They seem to cast shadows on the wall. "And I'm sorry that it took the world ending for me to be here."

Annabeth doesn't turn around. She doesn't say anything, either.

She just stands there for a moment before walking into her room and shutting the door behind her, leaving Percy alone on the top step with his words and his fucking useless love.

It takes a long time for Percy to move again.

Making his way to the opposite end of the hall, Percy catches the faint murmur of conversation that slips out from beneath the door of the room that Piper and Leo are sharing. He hears laughter, the muffled sound of somebody falling off the bed, and he wonders about that.

Still, he doesn't stop until he reaches the last room in the hallway and steps inside, door falling shut behind him with a muted thud.

There's nothing but silence and the whole room swims in pale shadows, like it's all underwater. Percy shrugs out of his clothes, leaving only his boxers on before crawling onto the bed. He stays above the sheets, watching the way that the moonlight washes in through the window and leaves bright lines across his bare thighs, and over the jut of his ankle.

On his hip, there's a bruise from the accident.

Pale purple spreading into black. Just like the sun, it's a reminder that the world is ending, a reminder that he's lost control.

Resting back against the pillow, Percy shuts his eyes, breathing slow.

He falls asleep looking for the words in Annabeth's silence.


	6. VI

Chapter 6

**o**

Oh give it a rest, I could persuade you

Give me a night, I'll make you

I know you're looking for salvation in the secular age,

But girl I'm not your savior

Wrestle you to the ground; god help us now

**o**

Percy dreams of a car moving fast.

It's like he's outside of himself, watching as he drives down a dark road at full speed, dangerous and electric, always moving and moving and moving. He can't stop because the sun is behind him. Even though it's nighttime, the sun is behind him, and even though he can't see it, he knows it's there. Does that make sense?

His car is red, and memories float out of the blackness like smoke.

They're just fleeting, really, small disturbances in the air, but in the dream they wash over his windshield and then they're all he can see and hear and think. Everything becomes white noise.

In the mist of it, there's his face looking back at him, changing so fast it's like pictures being layered. It's like still images of himself that stretch out through his life and then past it—grainy footage of him as a little boy, green eyes bigger than the moon as his mother kissed him and told him that he was made of sunlight. Him at ten years old, wide eyed and nervous during the first day of fifth grade, fingers twisting in the straps of his too-big backpack. There's him at fifteen, too, starry-eyed and falling in love for the very first time—and god, for the last time too—and the feeling coming so fast and so sudden that he felt dizzy with it.

In the dream, Annabeth's name sits just under his tongue.

The memories keep coming, flooding in and getting lost in the dark. He dreams of the car crash, of metal screeching against pavement; he dreams of the love that he and Annabeth shared and he remembers the way that he destroyed it, harsh words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them, leaving bruises on the milk of Annabeth's skin.

But past that, past that—Percy dreams of light.

Not like sunlight, harsh and burning, but light itself—just the idea of it, the simple meaning of it. He dreams of himself as an old man, living in a cottage tucked deep in the New England countryside, a place surrounded in flowers even though it's the middle of winter. This is what his death would look like. If it hadn't been chosen by the sun, this is what his death would look like. In his dreams, Annabeth is there, and she's still the most beautiful thing in the world, her face wrinkled with the years gone by. Moonlight washes in and makes her look blue and silver as she sleeps.

The images move like static and then all of his memories are floating back into the dark again, then it's just him and his red car and a black road that stretches on forever, the harsh starkness of his headlights washing over the pine trees, bringing out the green in them.

Percy dreams of a car slowing down.

Annabeth's name falls from the tip of his tongue and Percy stops driving.

* * *

The next evening, Percy watches as Annabeth fades into the trees up ahead, the bright red of her jacket swallowed up by the white static of winter.

She's a fox in the snow. Percy follows after her.

It's nearing dusk now. They're heading towards the pond to skate and the sky is dripping into a sleepy sort of blue above, yellow sun dipping low beneath a thick line of pine trees in the distance.

The light is watery, spreading out like a sigh over the horizon.

Percy walks with Jason in silence, keeping his hands shoved deep in his pockets, body hunched against the cold. They've both got a pair of ice-skates thrown over their shoulders, and Percy listens as their boots crunch over the snow.

There are seven days left until the end of the world.

"Do you think something's going on with them?" Jason says suddenly.

Percy glances over at him with a frown, watching the side of Jason's face as they walk. His breath curls out like smoke, candlelight hair shining bright even in the dimness. "With who?" Percy asks.

"Piper and Leo," Jason says, rolling his eyes like it should be obvious.

Percy thinks about it for a moment as they near the trees. He thinks about yesterday, when Leo had watched Piper from behind the glass and said I like her. He didn't get it then, but now he does.

"I think something's been going on with them for a while," Percy says.

Jason hums thoughtfully, stepping over a snow-covered log as they move into the woods. Percy shivers as the air cools, daylight weakening where the tree branches cast shadows.

When Jason doesn't say anything, Percy smiles, nudging him gently with his shoulder. "Just spit it out, Jason. I know you're thinking something."

Jason glances over at him, biting his lip before sighing, looking away. "It's just—god, I don't know. Do you feel like this is the right time for that? The end of the world?"

Percy considers that. "Are you asking because you don't like that Piper and Leo are more than friends, or because you think we should be spending our time keeping up old relationships instead of fumbling through new ones?"

Jason just shakes his head. "I don't—it's not like I have a grudge, or anything. Piper and I were together a long, long time ago." He looks at Percy, the ice of his eyes sharp, searching. "But what do you think? Is it the right time?"

Percy doesn't answer. He just thinks about it.

When the trees begin to spread out and he catches sight of Annabeth in the distance, a bright speck of color against the muted, mottled surface of the frozen lake, Percy knows his answer.

Shrugging, he looks back at Jason. "I think it sort of has to be."

* * *

"And the crowd goes wild!" Hazel shouts with a laugh.

She smacks the end of a frosted branch against the ice, skating in circles around the pond, her cheeks dusted pink from the cold. They've been playing for the last half hour, and Percy can't feel his legs.

"Good one, Levesque," he grins, wiping snow away from his eyelashes.

"Thanks, Jackson," Hazel says, winking as she skates over to where Frank is standing on the other side of the pond, a boot laid out on either side of him as a sort of make-shift goalie's net. Annabeth shifts back and forth in the middle, bundled up in a scarf and beanie, her red jacket looking like a small sun.

Percy tries not to look for too long or pay too much attention, but it's sort of really hard because Annabeth is right there and Percy's still not used to it—it's hard because Annabeth is right there, where she hasn't been for so long.

She is so bright against the blue of the evening sky.

Percy watches as Frank laughs, picking up the stone that Hazel managed to get past him. "Here, you little devil," he says, passing it over to Hazel. "When did you even learn to play hockey?"

Hazel shrugs, grinning. "You're looking at a natural."

Frank laughs and lunges at Hazel with a playful shout, chasing after her on the ice. Annabeth rolls her eyes but she's smiling, cupping her gloved hands around her mouth and breathing out warmth.

"Caught you," Frank says, tearing Percy's attention away from Annabeth. "You're mine now."

"Ah, whatever," Hazel grins, not looking bothered in the slightest. She glances towards the trees, and Percy follows her gaze. Through the gaps, the lights turned on in Annabeth's house are shining like little stars. "I think I'm going to head back," Hazel says, bringing Percy's attention back to the pond. "It feels like my toes are about to fall off. You guys coming?"

"No, I think I'll stay here," Percy says, skating out into the middle of the pond. "You three go ahead, I'll be there in a bit." Without waiting for an answer, he lays himself down onto the ice, cringing slightly against the wet coldness that seeps past the fabric of his jeans.

"All right, Percy. See you," Frank says.

And then Percy's listening to the sound of their skates cutting through snow, the noise echoing softly, like Percy's holding his hands over his ears. Hazel and Frank and Annabeth fade off into the trees, and even when the world becomes hushed around him, Percy keeps his eyes on the sky.

It's a blue so dark that it's almost black—and it's endless, stretching on and on and on. It's empty of stars, though, which makes Percy think about the end of the world. Do the stars know what's coming?

No. Probably not. The stars don't have a clue.

In the silence, Percy watches his breath. It leaves his mouth and rises up, a ghost against the indigo sky, stealing away warmth.

He can't feel his body because it's freezing and he's cold, but he can't bring himself to move, either—it's like gravity is keeping him stuck in this place, in this moment, right here, but he can almost feel time pushing him forward still—it's like the moon, a thin white sliver above him, is a ticking clock, dipping lower and lower, getting ready for a new day.

But see, Percy doesn't want a new day. Not yet, not when it means that they're closer to running out of them.

Percy shuts his eyes, huffing out a small laugh. He can't even help it, he can't help anything.

"What are you doing?"

Percy's eyes fly open at the sound of her voice, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because it's Annabeth standing over him. It's Annabeth, right there, the details of her face carved out by the light of the moon.

Light against dark, light coming forward. Percy's getting sick of all the metaphors.

It's a moment before he can answer.

"Thinking," he says finally.

Annabeth doesn't say anything back. The color of her eyes is warped in the soft glow of the moon, blue like the sea as she stands above Percy with the sky black behind her—a stark contrast to the argent glint of her eyes, to the red of her jacket.

It's like there's a searchlight on somewhere, trained directly on Annabeth.

Percy swallows thickly. He can't feel his mouth. "I thought you left."

"Nah." Annabeth shrugs, glancing away to look at the place where the house must be visible in the distance. When she looks back down, Percy is struck by the closeness of it all. "Didn't make it past the trees, actually."

Nodding, Percy stays quiet, not sure how to take that.

Annabeth licks her lips, thoughtful. And then she's lowering herself onto the ground, shuffling around a bit until she's laid out beside Percy on the ice. Their arms brush, and it's all orange haze.

"Listen, I'm really—" Annabeth starts after a moment, her voice shattering the silence. "Last night. I'm sorry about that."

"You don't have to apologize, Annabeth."

"I know I don't," Annabeth says. "I just feel like I should."

Percy doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. It's like he had all these things planned, all these words that he wanted to say, and now that the moment's here he doesn't know what to do with it.

Swallowing, Percy turns over so that he's lying on his side, eyes resting on the soft slope of Annabeth's nose. Annabeth is staring at the sky but Percy is staring at her face, at her pale cheeks tinged pink by the cold.

She seems like a dream, all smoke and mirrors, and Percy just wants to reach out and touch her, to ground her here with him before some change in the wind carries her away.

He wants to kiss the warmth back into the blueness of her mouth, but he can't.

After a while, Annabeth says, "It's been five years."

It's all that she says, and even though Percy expected it, he still has the urge to just pull Annabeth over until she's underneath Percy's body and then somehow, somehow, he can make her love him again.

Instead, he exhales slow, letting the words sink deep. "Yeah. Yeah, it has."

Annabeth glances over Percy then, her cheek pressed against the frozen ice of the pond. Her eyelashes are dusted in snow, and her eyes reflect the cerulean of the frost in the dimness. "You really fucked me up."

"I never—I didn't think it would all end up like this," Percy says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Annabeth admits. "But that doesn't change anything."

"Nothing has to change," Percy says, his eyes searching Annabeth's, for something, anything, he's not even sure. "Nothing has to change, Annabeth, honestly. I just don't want you to be angry with me when the world ends."

Annabeth laughs at that, closing her eyes and tilting her head back towards the sky. "Oh, of course not. Not at the end of the world. But any other time is fine, I guess?"

Percy hesitates, frowning as he watches the side of Annabeth's face. "You know that's not what I meant."

After a moment, Annabeth sighs, looking back at Percy. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you," Percy says.

"But why did you want to see me?"

"Because the world is ending, Annabeth," Percy says, watching as the snow falls down from the dark sky above, obscuring the horizon with broad strokes. "I wanted to see you because I don't have a choice."

Annabeth just stares. "You always have a choice."

"Not when it comes to this. I don't think I've ever had a choice when it comes to this," Percy says, because it's the truth and it always has been. He speaks quietly, handing over his words like an offering, like a part of himself. "I've really missed you, Annabeth."

Annabeth's eyes widen slightly at that, and Percy can feel her moving away before she actually does it—before she's actually pushing herself off of the ground and standing up, her right cheek burning red where she'd had it pressed to the ice.

"Jesus," Annabeth exhales, kicking at the ice with her skate.

"Annabeth," Percy says, sitting up to watch Annabeth's back as she walks in circles around the frozen pond, gloved hands cradling her face. "Annabeth, stop."

Annabeth does stop, and she turns to face Percy, her face blank.

Her body is framed in light. Everything she does, it seems, is framed in light.

"You're such an asshole for coming here," Annabeth says, and Percy feels the words like a fist. It punches words out of him, makes emotion bubble up, but he stays quiet, he lets Annabeth finish. "You broke my fucking heart, you know that? The moment I saw you—the second they carried you in, the second you opened your eyes in that goddamn camp infirmary, I knew it was going to happen. I knew it, Percy, and I still let you in."

Percy's frozen in place, cold ice seeping into his jeans. "I'm so sorry, Annabeth."

"Yeah, christ, I know," Annabeth says, almost laughing as she turns her back to Percy again, the redness of her jacket standing out against the sky. After a moment of silence, she starts speaking again. "I thought I was still angry. When you showed up at my door two days ago, that's when I realized that I wasn't."

Hesitant, Percy asks, "What do you mean?"

"I'm not angry, Percy," Annabeth says. "I'm happy to see you."

"I don't understand," Percy says, because he doesn't.

Annabeth groans loudly, scrubbing a hand down her face as she turns back to face Percy. "I'm happy to see you, Percy. I just don't know what to do with that."

"Annabeth—"

"Percy. You left." Annabeth's shoulders are set and her words are sharp. They slice through the snowfall, through the thick layer of cold. "Shit, Percy, you just left me. It was that easy for you, and I was so stupid waiting every day for you to come back. For you to call me."

Percy's mind is swimming, he can't even think. "It wasn't easy for me."

"Yeah, maybe not." Annabeth laughs again, her voice breaking around emotion, and Percy hates the way it sounds, hollow and empty and not right at all, and Percy thinks how she never used to laugh like that with him.

She wipes snow away from her eyes, and Percy's suddenly aware that this is the longest conversation they've had in five years. "But," she continues, "you still did it, and now the world is ending. A week from now, we won't even be here."

Percy feels the thickness growing in his throat, and he blinks back tears, breathing in sharply through his nose. "Annabeth—"

Annabeth shakes her head, cutting him off. "You were the love of my life."

"And you're still the love of mine," Percy says, letting the ice numb his fingers as he pushes himself to stand up. He's surprised at how easily the words come out, how true they are. He's standing a few feet away from Annabeth, so he closes the distance until they're standing face to face. "I know it's not fair, I know it's so unfair, Annabeth, but you are the love of my life, and I'm so sorry for what I've done to you."

Annabeth doesn't answer that. She just watches Percy for a moment, and her eyelashes are dusted in snow. White against blue. She's the exact shade of winter. "I want us to be friends."

"Friends," Percy repeats, and the word feels strange in his mouth. Still, he can't believe he's even getting that much. "I'd like that."

"So would I," Annabeth says.

Percy doesn't speak after that. He just keeps his eyes on Annabeth's face, looking at the way the moon lights her up, and at the way she glows against the dark backdrop of the sky.

"You've grown up," Annabeth says.

Percy laughs wetly, but he keeps his eyes on Annabeth. "So have you."

"Yeah," Annabeth agrees, looking down at herself with a small smile. Her mouth is still blue. "I guess I have, haven't I?"

Percy nods, and then there's a small pause in time before he's moving in closer, frozen arms opening up like an invitation. He can't even feel himself and Annabeth's just looking at his hands, but then Annabeth is moving into them, her own arms wrapping around Percy's waist.

And it's—it's the closest they've gotten in five years, and Percy's starting to feel the warmth in his body again so he breathes in deeply, he lowers his head down onto Annabeth's shoulder.

This is it, he thinks—

This is him and Annabeth, Percy and Annabeth, and the sun may be hiding on the other side of the planet but he's still holding the end of the world in his hands. Somehow, somehow, he can feel every place where they're touching. At the knees and at the hearts, the warmth buzzes through his body like electrocution.

Moving back so that he's looking at Annabeth's face again, Percy blinks snow out of his eyes. Annabeth smiles softly and digs her hands into her pockets, glancing over to where her house stands in the distance, broken up by the trees.

"We should head back," she says.

Percy nods, letting his hands fall back to his sides.

They're silent as they make their way back across the frozen pond, skates sliding slick through the snow, but it's a hushed sort of silence, the kind of silence that speaks.

When they get back to the house, they take off their shoes and jackets and find that the other five are all asleep in the living room, limbs spread out over each other's on the floor, blankets piled on top. The television is off but flames flicker in the fireplace, casting shadows.

"Should we leave them?" Annabeth whispers, glancing over at Percy as they watch from the doorway. The small smile on her face is enough to make Percy start grinning as well, for no real reason at all, just because.

Percy just nods, smiling as he looks at Annabeth.

"What?" Annabeth asks, grinning, her hand coming up to her face like there's something wrong with her.

"Nothing." Percy laughs a little, shaking his head as he looks back towards the five of them in the living room. Hazel's tucked up under Jason's arm and Leo's head is resting on Piper's lap, her legs tangled in with Frank's. "I don't know. They look so peaceful. Let's just leave them."

"Yeah," Annabeth says. "Yeah, okay."

They say goodnight quietly, Annabeth giving a wave of her fingers when they part at the top of the stairs. It's not much, but it's something, and lying in bed just before sleep takes him, Percy can forget about the sun for a moment. For the first time in a long, long while, he can fall asleep knowing that this day has been better than the last.


End file.
